


Just the Tip

by eatingcroutons



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Consent Issues, HYDRA Trash Party, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, brock rumlow's fragile masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatingcroutons/pseuds/eatingcroutons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=639819">prompt of the same name</a> on the HYDRA Trash Meme. It's taken me almost a year to go back to proofread, edit and post this on AO3, but here it is, I'm officially de-anoning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Tip

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [На полшишечки](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725429) by [Tressa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tressa/pseuds/Tressa), [WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018/pseuds/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018)



Rumlow's drunk, and he's pissed, and that's not a great combination as he and Rollins stagger into the shithole hotel room S.H.I.E.L.D. has given them in whatever shithole city this is. He trudges over to one of the room's twin beds and sits down on the shitty mattress. Grabs the TV remote and starts jabbing buttons. Maybe he can at least find some decent goddamn porn.

Rollins sits down next to him. 

"Man, if you take rejection this badly I'm amazed you made it through high school." 

"Chicks loved me in high school." Rumlow pauses for a second on a shot of a couple making out, but the scene changes: just some shitty teen movie. "Chicks loved me after high school. Chicks love me now. The fuck was that bitch's problem?" 

Rollins laughs, slaps an arm across Rumlow’s shoulders. "Maybe she just doesn't swing that way." 

"Bitch wouldn't even let me kiss her." Rumlow frowns as his vision blurs; for a moment the woman on the TV looks an awful lot like the one who just walked out on him in that club. He thumbs the power switch, throws the remote vaguely at the other bed. Misses. 

"Awww, if a kiss was all you wanted you could've asked me!" Rollins puckers up into the most ridiculous duck-face Rumlow's ever seen, starts making wet smacking noises. "Bet I could kiss as well as any girl. Ooooh, Brock. Ooooh." 

Rumlow shoves him in the shoulder. "I ever get desperate enough to kiss you, you'll know about it." 

"I dunno man. You look pretty desperate to me. When was the last time you got laid? You even remember how to kiss properly, or —"

Fuck it — Rumlow grabs him by the collar and yanks him forward, kissing him just to shut him the hell up. Makes it open-mouthed and filthy because of course he damn well _remembers how_ , and wants to smirk when Rollins gasps into his mouth, wants to laugh outright when Rollins starts kissing back half a second later. He gets a hand on Rollins' stubbled jaw — and freezes. 

They stay locked in place for a second, breathing right into each other's mouths. Then Rollins mutters, "S'just kissing," and licks into his mouth again. 

Rollins' nails scrape through Rumlow's hair until his hand's wrapped around Rumlow's head and yeah. Fuck. Not like kissing's any different to anything he's done with a girl. Even if Rollins is trying to be more aggressive, more controlling about it — he grabs Rollins' shoulder to turn him, get the angle the way Rumlow likes it. That's better. Rumlow digs his teeth in to feel Rollins' grip tighten around his head. 

When they break for air they pull back just far enough to meet each other's eyes. Rollins is flushed and panting, and this time Rumlow does smirk, raising an eyebrow. 

"Okay, okay. Clearly haven't forgotten everything in your old age." 

"Experience, Rollins. You could learn to respect it." And he should probably pull back now. But for some reason he gets stuck looking at Rollins' neck — at the pulse he can just barely see beating through it, Rollins' jugular bare and vulnerable right there, and the urge to lean in and bite is so unexpected that Rumlow's tasting skin and sweat before he can stop himself. 

Rollins gasps out a _fuck_ and there, that'll show the little shit; Rumlow eases back to lick over Rollins' skin but then there are nails scraping down his nape that make him shiver and he digs his teeth in again, over the tendon this time, because like fuck is he letting Rollins get one over on him. Keeps biting his way down to Rollins' collarbone, feeling hot breath on his ear and then a tongue against the sensitive spot right underneath it, teeth scraping against his own neck and this time when Rumlow pulls back it's to shove Rollins back onto the bed to do this properly. 

_Properly_ meaning, apparently, pinning Rollins down with a hand on his hip while Rollins digs fingers into Rumlow's shoulder blades, but it's still just kissing. Rumlow's hand slips upwards a little, ends up gripping warm skin because it's easier to hang onto and the way Rollins jerks as Rumlow's thumb slides across muscle, just trying to get a better grip, that's totally incidental. All Rumlow's weight is on one elbow next to Rollins' head — he shifts, gets a knee on the edge of the mattress between Rollins' thighs — but it slips on the sheets as he leans in to bite Rollins' earlobe and Rollins swears, hips jerking to shove a very obvious erection against Rumlow's thigh. 

They freeze again, Rumlow's lips still against Rollins' ear because that's — Rumlow swallows. He can definitely feel it there: it's not like it's poking him or anything, but that is definitely a hard, hot cock. Against his thigh. He shifts awkwardly and Rollins' fingers dig into his sides like claws, hips twitching. 

"Rumlow..." 

Rollins' voice is barely a whisper against his ear. Rumlow doesn't trust himself to reply. 

"You wanna... we could just..." Rollins takes in a shaky breath. "Just like... keep our clothes on. Nothing sketchy. But we could." He swallows. "If you wanna." 

Rumlow holds himself very still. Can feel the seconds tick by as he waits for — what? Apparently he's not freaking out about the idea of his subordinate rubbing off on his thigh. It's not like he has to actually do anything, just... 

Carefully, deliberately, he presses forwards. 

Rollins swears, hips rolling up and hands tugging Rumlow down by the waist and okay. Maybe the idea of Rollins desperate for it is kind of hot. That thrill of power, the ego boost, turns out that isn't any different if the person squirming underneath him happens to be a guy. And as long as they're not — they're keeping their clothes on. And Rumlow is drunk and he's horny and he may as well fucking enjoy _one_ thing tonight. He pulls back for a moment to take stock of the situation. 

Rollins props himself up on his elbows, lips parted a little, totally fucking obvious bulge in his pants and Rumlow licks his lips. 

"Get up there." A jerk of his head and Rollins gets the idea, turns and scrambles back until he's laid out on the bed, waiting. 

Rumlow crawls up over him, stops on his hands and knees when he's right above Rollins and squints to look him in the eye. 

"Nothing sketchy." 

Rollins nods, wide-eyed. 

Rumlow lays his whole body down, presses them flush together and _fuck_ that's — definitely not like with a girl, not with the way Rollins gets a thigh between Rumlow's and shoves up against him, all thick solid strength. And yeah, Rumlow's definitely hard now. They start rocking against each other, just — just for a bit of release. Rollins' nails scrape up Rumlow's back and that's good too. That's great. 

When Rollins' hand slips around and rubs over his nipple Rumlow gasps — then grabs Rollins' wrist, yanks it away. 

"'M not a fucking —" But his shirt is all rucked up under his armpits now and that's just a pain in the ass. He pulls back, untangles their legs, straddles Rollins and sits up for a second to tug it off. 

There's a look on Rollins' face that's something like awe, and yeah. Rumlow can stand to be admired like that. He winks and pouts to mock-kiss the air as he grinds his hips down and Rollins moans, starts scrabbling to get his own shirt off. 

When he gets back on top of Rollins it's hotter and closer and definitely better. Rumlow slots their thighs together again, leans in for more lips and tongue and teeth as he ruts in earnest. They go on for a few minutes like that and it's good — the friction is good but it's not quite — Rumlow growls, frustrated, and goes for his fly. 

Stops. 

Rollins stills underneath him, hands still on Rumlow's hips, and. 

For a long moment there's nothing but their heavy panting. 

Rollins swallows. "You said —"

"I know. Just. Shut up for a minute." Rumlow tries to focus but his brain is lust-drunk and drunk-drunk and fuck, if he's going to get off he should at least get off properly. Naked-properly. That's how it's supposed to work. 

He unbuttons his fly, unzips and gets back up on his knees to shove down his pants. Doesn't look at Rollins when he says, "Get your fucking pants off." 

***

By the time Rumlow manages to get his jeans untangled from around his ankles Rollins is already naked. Rumlow still isn't sure where to look; he ends up staring somewhere off to the side of the pillow as he reaches down to stroke himself a bit. This all made sense thirty seconds ago but now he's — now they're — he shakes his head, trying to throw off the haze of alcohol. He's too fucking drunk to figure this shit out. 

Thankfully Rollins manages to use his brain for once, and pulls Rumlow down by the shoulder until they're kissing again. Rumlow balances himself on his other arm and his knees so he's close enough to Rollins without actually... without anything sketchy happening. Pulls back for a second to spit into his hand, and that works. That definitely works. Panting into each other's mouths, nipping at each other's lips — definitely not touching anywhere else — and Rumlow starts to fuck his fist in earnest, bucking his hips into the slick heat of it. 

When Rollins turns away to spit in his own hand Rumlow leans in to bite at his neck again, just to hear the way his breath turns all shaky. And then — _fuck_ — there's a jolt of sensation as the head of his cock brushes against the back of Rollins' hand. 

Rumlow presses his face against Rollins' skin and groans, rocks forward again, slower, drags his cock over Rollins' knuckles. It's fucking — it's just a hand, not like he's never had a hand on his cock before. He grabs Rollins' wrist and tugs, presses it against his own crotch until Rollins gets the idea and starts jerking him off properly. 

A cautious hand slides around Rumlow's right hip, not holding so much as just resting there, but it's enough to get him fucking down into Rollins' fist and pressing in closer still. Rollins' breath is loud in his ear and far too fucking steady — Rumlow starts biting another mark into his collarbone then has a better idea. 

He licks over his palm and reaches down to grab Rollins' cock. 

"Rumlow, _fuck_."

"Yeah." Fucking is good. This is good. Even if Rollins isn’t who Rumlow was planning to fuck tonight he's still hot and eager and gasping Rumlow's name. Turns out it's pretty easy to make Rollins whimper for more, and when the angle gets annoying he yanks both their hands out of the way and starts just rutting against Rollins' hip. 

It's awkward at first, trying to figure out where the hell their legs are supposed to go until Rollins gets his head in the game and shifts so his thighs are sandwiched in between Rumlow's. Then it's perfect, Rollins' hips shoving up to meet every thrust. Desperate-for-Rumlow is a good look on him; he's making noises that aren't always words and Rumlow grins, twists his hips a little as he grinds down, determined to make him lose it completely. 

"Just wanna — wanna —" Something shifts and Rollins' cock slips between Rumlow's thighs and Rollins _moans_ , snaps his hips up again and again, cock sliding up and down and _up_ where it brushes the back of Rumlow's balls. Rollins has hold of Rumlow's hips, keeps him there as he rocks his own in little circles. The head of his cock presses — presses up behind Rumlow's balls and Rumlow can't seem to catch his breath, mind can't seem to latch onto anything beyond the feel of hot blunt heat nudging back just — just a little further —

"Just the tip," Rollins gasps, "Fuck, I promise just — just the tip, let me, let me just —"

And Rumlow can't say yes but he isn't saying no, doesn't stop Rollins from sliding wet fingers down past the base of his spine until he finds —

Rumlow swears and jerks as fingers press against his fucking _asshole_ , and Rollins is still muttering in his ear: "Just like this, just let me try, fuck, wanna feel you, Rumlow..." even as his fingers' circles get smaller and smaller till he's just pressing, pressing right fucking —

— pressing inside, and this isn't — wasn't —

"Just like this, just gonna, just the tip. Not gonna hurt you, just like —"

Rollins' finger twists, slides, pulls back and then there's — oh, fuck. 

Rumlow bites down hard on his lower lip. 

"See, just like that baby, just like — _hah_ —"

"You said — you said just the —"

"It's barely even -- just a little more, you feel so fucking good. Come on." 

It's insane, it's impossible, the burn of it seems to go on and on and _on_ as Rollins keeps whispering _fuck, baby, yeah_ until — until that is unmistakably Rollins' stomach pressing right up against Rumlow's balls which means he's —

"Fuck, Rollins, you said —"

"Couldn't help myself. Fuck, you feel good." Rollins shifts his hips and Rumlow feels the movement inside his goddamn body. The sensation is — right on the edge of too much is what it is. 

"Stop. Just." 

"You want me to —" Rollins moves again, pulling back out a little and Rumlow groans, fingers digging into Rollins' shoulders. 

"Don't — just don't fucking move," Rumlow pants against Rollins' neck. Every tiny movement feels seriously fucking strange. Part of him just wants it out, now, but he remembers the long slow drag as it went in and he's not ready for more of that. He just needs to catch his breath for a minute. Just needs to — maybe if he shifts just a bit, finds a better position it'll be more comfortable. Bearable. He twists his hips, bites down on his lip to stop himself gasping. Tries to just — if he gets his knees under him, then maybe —

He sits up again, braces his hands on Rollins' chest, and that's better. Definitely better. But it’s still not quite right. It’s like there's an itch he could scratch if he could only figure out how. He rocks a little further back, putting more weight on his arms to give himself the leverage, and yeah. That's. 

A soft sound makes him look up and fuck, the expression on Rollins' face is priceless. Pupils blown wide, lips slick and bruised, flushed and sweating and staring at Rumlow like he's the second fucking coming. Rumlow gives an experimental squeeze and Rollins gasps and bucks upwards, driving the air from Rumlow's lungs. He laughs and does it again, but this time Rollins' thrust leaves him breathless in an entirely different way. 

It's something — something feels — Rumlow bears down to chase the sensation as Rollins pushes up again and that's _it_ , the itch turned into full-blown need, each little nudge inside him making him shiver. He closes his eyes to focus on getting it right as they start moving together, finding just the right angle to — fuck. Yes. 

"Jesus, Rumlow," Rollins gasps. "Yeah. You like that, baby?" 

Rumlow's eyes snap open and he grabs Rollins by the throat. "Don't call me that." Rollins nods, eyes even wider than before, but doesn't stop moving. Rumlow glares down at him, grip tightening a little as a warning. 

"Sorry," Rollins chokes out. "Didn't mean — you just feel so fucking good. Just wanna —" a hand wraps around Rumlow's cock again and he swears, thrusts up into it, the movement dragging Rollins half out of him so that when he sits back it's that long, aching stretch all over again. But now it sparks a maddening need for _more_ and Rumlow does it again: fucking forwards into Rollins' fist, fucking himself backwards onto Rollins' —

Far too fucking drunk for this shit. 

Rollins' other hand keeps guiding his hips until he's really working for it, and it's not until Rollins makes a strangled whine that he realizes how tight he's holding onto the man's neck. When he lets go there are fucking fingerprints and Rumlow dives in to taste them, to suck and bite until Rollins is bruised all over. It changes the angle and sandwiches his cock between them — and the extra pressure, the extra friction has him groaning, thighs straining for one last thrust, for that last little push —

He comes with his teeth sunk into Rollins' neck, groaning and shuddering as Rollins strokes him through it. 

Rollins thrusts a few more times before coming himself, and it's — not like he feels anything, but when Rollins slowly pulls out there's a warm trickle of fluid that sends a shiver up Rumlow's spine, makes him clutch Rollins tighter. He feels like — like —

Like he really needs to fucking sleep until he's sober enough to use his brain again. 

***

Rumlow wakes with that not-quite-hungover feeling: mouth dry, teeth furry, gut unhappy in a way that isn't quite nausea but probably means he'll need to take a dump soon. He's sweaty and sticky but not uncomfortable enough to drag himself out of bed just yet. Plus there's a warm arm draped over his waist, which could mean more fun times before the shower. Or in the shower. 

He starts to roll over — and immediately feels an ache in a place he really shouldn't be aching. 

He freezes, gut churning. 

The night before is mostly a blank. There are flashes of sensation — of frustration, of lust, of smug satisfaction as Rollins —

Fucking _Rollins_ —

He was drunk, sure. But there’s no way he was drunk enough to actually… he doesn't dare move in case he feels that ache again. His heart is racing and he's not sure if he's imagining or remembering what it feels like to be stretched and _filled_ from the inside. His gut gives another lurch. 

"Mmm." The sound from beside him is soft and sleep-rough but undeniably male, and Rumlow tenses. "Morning. Hmmm. You wanna go again?" The hand on his waist starts sliding downwards and Rumlow is mortified to realise he's half hard. 

He stumbles out of bed, almost tripping over the sheets as he flees to the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, Rollins is almost completely sober, and quite happy to take advantage of this opportunity because like everyone else in this dumpster Rollins is a terrible person.


End file.
